Little Stray Thoughts
by Skinfull
Summary: Post Ep for Little Green Men - Written for an After the Fact challange (way back in 2007) Recently found it! Scully POV, bit of fun. 1 chapter only!


**Title: **Little Stray Thoughts

**Author**: Skinfull

**Rating**: PG

**Classification**: Post Ep - Scully POV

**Spoilers**: Nope

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, no profit, no harm.

**Summary**: Small post ep for Little Green Men for the After the Fact Challenge.

**Authors Notes: **Watched the ep and just started to write, changed it to Scully POV only half way through.

**Little Stray Thoughts.**

**By Skinfull**

**LONGSTREET MOTEL; **

**WASHINGTON, D.C.**

"I many not have the Xfiles Scully, but I still have my work. And I still have you."

After leaving the hotel storage room I walked through the dingy hallway and out of the hotel, onto the street where my car was parked. I sat into the car and pulled the belt on. My mind wandered back to the small room where Mulder had been reviewing the wiretaps for so long and I wanted to shake the sound of gloom out of his voice.

"And I still have you."

Those words again, ringing over and over in my head until they made no sense. Made too much sense but they couldn't mean what I thought they'd mean, what I had hoped they'd mean. They couldn't. Could they?

"And I still have you."

Arrrrghhh! Again! His words again! I want to ram my head off the steering wheel just to knock them out of my head but I'd rather Mulder didn't walk out of this hotel in a couple of hours and find me passed out in my car. So instead I settle for a loud engine gun as I start the car and peel out onto the street.

It's late so I manage to make it back to the flat in under half an hour which is quite a feat I reckon, as I barely remember the journey and barely even realise I'm home till I have the kettle boiled and I'm sitting on my couch with a mug of black coffee. I need it to be black. Just now, just tonight. The bitter taste is enough to take my mind off his words.

"And I still have you."

Oh god. Maybe not. I should…do it, I should just…call him…call him? Am I insane? I can't even get him to say hello to me in the corridor. How do I get him to call over to my place…for…coffee? I can't help laughing now and I wonder if I have gone mad. Can you get heatstroke from a couple of days in Puerto Rico? Probably not I decide and I have been home for a few days so it would have to be delayed heatstroke. I doubt even Mulder would believe that theory.

My coffee isn't helping me now and it doesn't even taste good so I wander back to the kitchen and toss it out, boiling the kettle for another try. I grab a clean mug from the press and throw in some coffee granules. But before the water is finished boiling there is a light knock on my door.

"And I still have you."

I'm started into freezing to the spot, and all I can hear is his voice again and again in my head.

"And I still have you. And I still have you. And I still have you."

Until finally they are just words reeling over and over so I have to physically shake my head and concentrate on moving my limbs to walk to the door. I check the peephole and see Mulder standing there and it's too much for my addled brain to handle.

"AND I STILL HAVE YOU."

I pulled the door open and smile at him hoping he can't see my brain working it's defective magic on his words and his voice, contorting it into so many different ways that is seems to mean everything and nothing at the same time and then I realise I'm standing there smiling at him like a degenerate.

"Mulder, come in." I pulled the door open and he steps in making a bee line for the couch and giving me a chance to wipe the absurd smile off my face.

"You knew I was coming?" he said and I freeze but he just nods his head into the kitchen where the two mugs are sitting beside my boiled kettle.

"Yeah Mulder, it was a psychic flash." I am proud of that comment and how suave it came out, hiding how flustered I am at him turning up unannounced when I was sitting there thinking about how I could get him over. I'm rambling again but at least it's internal. I go into the kitchen and make two fresh cups of coffee. I'm half expecting him to walk in after me, maybe lean against the counter in that way that he does. His ankles crossed, his hands resting on the edge making his shoulders lift up higher than their usual position. But he doesn't.

I glance over at him and see his face buried in his hands, his elbows on his knees. By the time I cross over to him and place the coffee onto the table in front of him he has lifted his face with a dry wash and taken the mug, lifting it to his lips and took a long sip. I slip onto the arm chair and wait for him to speak. I didn't ask him why he was here, but I was dying to know. Instead I try to drown out the voice in my head, "And I still have you." Or try to anyway, and concentrate on how I can help him to feel better.

He sighs. It's all I can do not to sit next to him and pull him into a hug. Just a hug, I admonish myself as my eyes widen involuntarily…completely involuntary…I swear.

"Do you think it's worth it Scully?"

I almost miss what he was saying as I was too busy arguing with my inner self about how I should hug him, tightly holding him to me or just a light arm resting across his shoulders?

"Is what worth it?"

"All this." He puts the coffee back onto the table and slaps the top of his head with both hands. At first I'm confused. I'm not sure what he means but I do know that he doesn't mean for me to answer. He's looking for a wall to voice his thoughts off tonight and I guess I got picked instead of a bottle of Bushmills or Johnny Walker. For that I will be eternally grateful. "All these brains, all these skills and all this education and training I've had but it's just not worth it." He sat back into the couch and stretched his legs out in front of him, tossed his head back into the cushion, his eyes closed.

That's it, he needs a hug and I need to give him one…a hug that is. Just a hug.

"And I still have you." No I can't listen to that right now. I push his voice out of my head and step around the table to sit next to him. But where do I put my hands? I could put one on his knee, one on his shoulder? His chest maybe? Or possibly his arm. Damn. Is it too late now? Has the moment passed? He's still lying back with his eyes closed maybe he's waiting for me to respond.

Okay here goes, I'll touch his leg. He doesn't jerk or move at all when I touch him and so I'm emboldened enough to lift a hand to his head, stroking his hair off his forehead. He turns his head towards me but his eyes are still closed and I see a slight glistening of tears under his lashes.

"Of course it's worth it." The hand I had resting on his legs lifted up to lie on his chest in just the right position to feel his heartbeat. I'm not sure if I did that on purpose of subconsciously but the slow steady rhythm of his heart is helping me focus. "It's worth it more today than it was yesterday. And it'll be worth more tomorrow."

He opens his eyes with a question, releasing one fat tear to roll languidly down his face, dripping off his jaw and wetting the collar of his shirt, but his lips don't move and his voice is silent.

"Because the minute you give up, the minute you stop fighting is the minute it stops being worth it."

"Well I feel that moment is upon us," he says with a crooked smile and another tear is released, this time from the other eye.

I can't stand it. Part of me is mad at him, for letting himself fall into this sinkhole of despair and self doubt. But the rest of me wants to pull him over to me, lie back against the soft cushions I bought last month, and hold him close. Just hold him. Stoke his back, massage his scalp I wouldn't need to talk just hold him and something in me tells me that's all he'd need too.

So I do it. I take his hand and pull him up a bit so he is sitting forward, then I shuffle back onto the couch and press my back against the armrest, supported by those large cushions. One of my legs is running along the back of the couch and the other I let down off it, then I pull him over. His face is a picture of understanding, like he had imagined this already, and for an instant I have second thoughts. Then I see the look in his eyes and it's not expectant, it's not derisory or repulsed. It's just open. He needs this, probably more than I'll ever understand but its gives me resolve not to change my mind.

He is facing forward and lies down on his chest, his head resting on my chest. One of his arms squeezes between us and the back of the couch to circle my waist while the other rests on my hipbone. I don't feel him shaking but I know he is crying. There is no sound of his tears but I can feel them wetting the blouse I'm wearing.

His legs are hanging off the other end of the couch while mine barely reach the end. I have one hand in his hair, gently rubbing circles into his scalp that I know will help keep his mind off his despair, and my other hand is tracing lines up and down his spine. His breathing has deepened and slowed to the point of sleeping. I don't want to move though so I rest my cheek against his head and hold him a little tighter.

"And I still have you."

I want to curse my mind for bringing that back up again but then I realise it wasn't me. It was Mulder. Half asleep but awake enough to squeeze his grip on me and I feel his fingers splay out over my back, his other hand leaves my hip bone and trails, might I say a burning line, up my torso beneath my arm and grips my shoulder. His breathing steadies again and this time I'm sure he's asleep as his grip slackens and I'm sure his mouth has opened a bit, is he drooling?

I can't laugh, not now, he might wake and then leave and I'm not ready for that yet. So I stifle the urge to laugh and settle for just pressing a soft kiss into his hair and letting my own eyes close over.

**End.**


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